Will
by nerd girl nithagria
Summary: For those of you who have read my story, The Departed, this is a spinoff cataloguing Will's exile to Chicago; the life he lived there, the friends he made, and the girl he fell in love with. *Title subject to change* *Rated 'T' for Cameron's constant use of swears*
1. Chapter 1

Will slouched at the breakfast table. He had spent most of the last year in Ireland with his grandmother, who ran the institute in Dublin. He had hated it there, and now, here in the apartment his mother had gotten for the two of them in Chicago, he hated it here too. He missed the Departed. He missed his Lady and the future he could've had with her. His mom pushed back his hair. It was getting long. Clary would have been tugging on t by now, telling him he needed it cut. He was going to grow it out until he saw her next, just so he could hear her laugh when she told him how ridiculous he looked.

"Stop staring at your toast as if it ruined your life. Eat it, then hurry up. You're going to be late for school otherwise."

School. He was supposed to go to St. Xavier's with Clary this fall. Not some music school his mom had found for him that the wards of this Institute head here went too. She had told him about it last night. It was The Tessa Kosta School for the Arts, and apparently it was a magnet school, for kids who devoted themselves to the performance arts; actors, musicians, dancers. He didn't want to go. He knew it was just a ploy from his mother to help him make friends. He picked up his toast and took a bite.

"I better get going then," he said darkly. His mother looked at him worriedly, but he had already picked up his viola and back-pack and was heading out the door.

[][][]

He supposed Chicago was an all-right sort of place. A bit like New York, if significantly smaller. He plugged himself into his Ipod on the bus, rejoicing in the familiar classical music Clary had always nagged him for listening to. He watched the city slide past, and then got off at his stop, craning his head to look at the buildings around him. The buildings here didn't seem as tall, although the Sears Tower rose up out of the skyline like some almighty finger invoking God. He shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all, then stepped into the small courtyard outside the actual building.

Kids were bumming out here as they waited for the first bell to ring. Will caught sight of a boy with dark brown hair and green eyes glaring at him from a bench where he had been practicing his cello, and Will raised his brows, but kept walking. Somehow, just by being here, he had insulted the kid. He heard Beethoven's familiar death march start up behind him—Symphony No. 7, movement 2. A fairly easy piece, all said and done—and he hurried inside.

The secretary at the main desk smiled at him when she saw him. He scowled back, and delighted in seeing her shoulders sag.

"You must be William Aingealceol. And what do you play?" She chirped.

Will distantly understood that she was just trying to be friendly, but he didn't feel friendly. He hadn't felt friendly since he had left New York.

"It's Will, and I play the viola." He snapped.

She pouted at him, but handed him his schedule.

"Here's your class list. You'll be starting in the main orchestra rehearsal room, which will be right around the corner from your locker. We try to keep the kids around their main areas. You'll have technical studies after that; just follow the rest of the section, and et cetera. The students and staff are very friendly," Will thought of the cellist from the courtyard and resisted the urge to laugh, "and I'm sure they'll help you if you get lost, but here's a map, just in case. Core classes, literature, math, science, resume after lunch and Performance Rehearsal tops the day off. Any questions?"

He blinked at her. "What the hell is performance rehearsal?"

She exhaled hard through her nose, as if she was doing her best to be patient with him. "The students are required to perform twice during to school year, either in our fall, winter, or spring concerts. That Rehearsal is specifically meant for the piece you will be working at then. Anything else?"

He shook his head. "Nope, that should be all."

She gestured to the door to her right. "Off you go then."

The bell rang as he slid through the door and kids swarmed around him as he walked down the hall. In the doors open to the classrooms, piano's started playing warm-ups and girls in leotards and leg warmers pushed passed him to get into studios. He sighed and pulled open the locker that had been allotted to him and shoved his back-pack in.

He picked up his viola from the floor. Angry Cello Boy shoved past him with a plain black rolling case. He pulled his binder out of his locker, watching the mass of string players rush down the hallway, and headed to orchestra rehearsal behind them. He could already hear kids tuning, and he wanted to not like that sound, not like the comfort he was already starting to feel in this place, but he couldn't help it. Music was like a second language to him, and he could already see that all of these kids spoke it fluently. He was excited, and he took a deep breath as he pushed the door open and walked into the cathedral sized room, suppressing a gasp at how wonderful this was all turning out to be after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Will looked around the lunchroom and sighed. Most of the circular tables were filled to the brim, but there was a mostly empty table by the door to the kitchen. He sighed and slammed his tray down there and started picking at the sloppy joe the lunch lady had slopped onto his tray. Just looking at it made him feel a little green. The school may be a state of the art performance center, but the food hadn't been cooked to match. In that manner, Will supposed that the Tessa Kossa School was just like all the other high schools across the country.

He looked up at someone slid into the chair next to him with enough force to push him to the side a little. He looked at his sandwich, not entirely disappointed with the fact that this table's usual occupants had finally shown up and now he'd be expected to leave and forgo lunch. He moved to pick up his tray, but a hand shoved him back down in his seat.

"Oh, no you don't. You're not allowed to leave my wonderful presence until you've heard me out."

Will sighed and looked to see who was addressing him. They boy had soft tawny brown hair that swooshed up a little in the front and a smattering of freckles across his nose. His hazel eyes were almost squinting shut and he already had crow's feet around their corners. He was smiling broadly. Will had made it his personal job to crush joy in the last year and scowled back. The boy's eyebrows shot up.

"Well aren't you a charmer," he said. He shoved his hand in Will's face. "Jamie Veerlem." He said. "I'm in orchestra. I'm the primary second."

"I never saw how the seconds got a primary. Might as well mass the lot of you violins together. You're all equally annoying." Will went back to contemplating his sloppy joe. He was trying to decide the best way to go about eating it, or even if he really wanted to eat it in the first place.

Jamie shook his head. "I'm, I'm sorry. Did you just call me annoying? I feel like you burned me right there, but I'm not sure how. Either way I'm hurt and I demand you—RACHEL!" he shouted suddenly, standing up and waving his arms wildly. "OVER HERE!"

"And you're crazy and kinda airheaded." Will commented dryly. "Can't figure out how I slammed you and now you want me to 'Rachel'. What the hell is that? I'm leaving." He stood up to go again, but Jamie grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him back into his seat.

"STAY!" he said firmly, wagging a finger in Will's face.

Will looked at Jamie, hoping the other boy could see how pathetic Will thought he was. Jamie frowned at him. A pretty girl with dark brown hair settled down in the seat next to Jamie and crinkled her nose.

"Really, Jamie? Next to the kitchens? It's gross over here." She flicked a fly off the table. Will grinned wickedly.

"If you don't like it, please, leave. I'm begging you. Take him with you while you're at it." Will said, turning a thumb to Jamie who was trying to carving into his tray with his plastic knife.

Rachel looked at Jamie then back at Will. "Yeah, I can see how you're totally not impressed with this place right now, but trust me," she said, flashing a brilliant smile, "It's not so bad after a while. I'm Rachel, by the way. And you're Will, right? Carlyn's son?"

Will couldn't help but do a double take. "How do you know my mom?"

Rachel waved the question away and started unwrapping her sack lunch. "She came by the institute a few weeks ago to review the trainer and my parents. My family runs the place."

"Oh," Will said, drudging up the memory of his mother coming home and telling him about the Institutes inhabitants. He had forgotten that she had mentioned a girl. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "She's been doing a lot of that stuff for the Clave lately."

Rachel pulled out a PB&J. "But you guys are here to stay now though, right?"

Will shrugged and picked at his sloppy joe. He was kinda hungry now. "Yeah, I guess so."

Rachel looked down at the sandwich on his plate. "Don't…eat that." She said. "It's more likely to give you food poisoning than not."

He smiled thankfully and started after the limp and falsely green green beans.

"Or those," Rachel said. "Really, don't eat any of it." She handed him half of her sandwich. "Here. I'll share with you today. Just remember to pack your own lunch from now on." She shot Jamie and exasperated glance. "Jamie, stop sticking that straw up your nose. People are going to start looking at you funny."

Jamie pulled the straw out of his nose with a disappointed sigh. "Rachel, you are ruining my booger-harvesting attempts. I still need to bombard Lawrence's scores with them."

Rachel rolled her eyes and turned back to Will. "So are you going to join our quartet or what?"

Will choked on the piece of crust he'd been chewing on. "WHAT?" he asked.

She looked at Jamie accusingly. "Jamie, you were supposed to ask him to join."

Jamie looked up from his improvised spoon catapult and glared at her. "He started insulting me. Seriously. He's worse than Cameron. I don't know why everyone hates us. We play the violin. SO WHAT?"

"So what?" Will asked. "So what is that you're a bunch of little spot-light hogs, that's what. Also:" he asked. "Who's Cameron?"

Jamie shot some of Will's green beans to a blond haired girl who was flirting with some boys and nodded towards Angry Cello Boy, who was glaring at Will from the corner of the room.

Will tilted his head and studied Cameron. "I don't think he likes me."

"Cameron doesn't like anybody." Rachel said. "His parents were killed by demons when he was like, seven. He's kinda hated on the world ever since. Don't sweat it, really." She smiled at him sweetly. "We have a trio. Him, me and Jamie. We were hoping you'd join us, especially after how you showed Lawrence today."

Will smiled at the thought of how he had snarked at the conductor earlier. Then looked at Rachel. No, he wouldn't let himself like it here. He belonged with the Departed, and no matter how nice Rachel may seem, she didn't even come close to how awesome Clary was. "No thanks." He said. He stood up and this time, Jamie didn't pull him back down. He walked away and neither of them called him back.

"Well," he heard Jamie say. "That was an epic fail."

"I don't know," came Rachel's quiet response.

Will dumped his lunch in the trash and walked out. He needed to practice.


	3. Chapter 3

Will stepped into the vacant practice room and pulled the door shut behind him. It was a nice room; soundproof, naturally. He couldn't hear any of the noises outside the air was still and sealed inside. It felt like his ears had popped for a moment, but then he shook his head, casting aside the sensation, and pulled out his viola.

He always felt calmer when played. Music helped him sort through his feelings in a way that nothing else ever did. He forewent his sheet music and just let his fingers wander where they would. The song today was slower, nostalgic almost, filled with longing for the world he'd been cut off from. It reminded him, distantly, of Clary. He smiled at little, picturing her in his mental eye. Her copper hair pulling loose of her French braids, lips pursed in concentration as she drew up people and worlds beyond his imagination. She was so creative; her imagination held so many fantastical things that he could never help but wonder at her.

A harsh nocking sounded on the door and he looked up. Jamie had pushed his face against the glass and was now suction-cupping his mouth to it. Will was tempted for a moment to shove it open and ram him into the wall. Rachel, waved awkwardly from behind him and gave Will a small smile. He raised his eyebrows and very deliberately shook his head and turned around. He didn't want to put up with these people anymore.

Unfortunately, they wouldn't be turned away that easily. Jame ripped the door open and shoved himself into the small space. Will resisted the temptation to "accidentally" take out his eye with his bow. Rachel slid in behind Jamie.

"Will," she said.

He glared at her. "I hate you both, I hope you know that."

Jamie studied him like if Will was some strange new toy. "You know who you remind me of? Cameron. The two of you would be great friends I think."

Will snorted. "I hate Angry Cello Boy too."

"Is there anyone you don't hate?" Rachel demanded.

Will considered this a moment. "Well, my friends from New York. I liked them, but besides that, no. No one else comes to mind."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "If you like New York so much, then why don't you go back there?"

Will felt all the blood drain from his face. He swallowed and brought his viola down as images of what had happened—branches that whipped against his face, Clary lying broken on the ground—flashed before his vision. "Why can't you just mind your own business and leave me alone?" he whispered, his voice equal parts harsh and vulnerable.

Jamie looked at him funny. "Are you OK?" He asked as Will bent down and started packing up his viola.

Rachel seemed to understand she had crossed a line. "Look, Will. I'm sorry, alright? Forget I said anything."

Will shoved past her and out the door. "Don't bother me again," he said. "Please." And then he left, leaving Jamie and Rachel to stare after him in despair.

[][][]

Will didn't know where to go after he left the practice room, so he wandered around until he chanced upon an empty corner outside a practice room. The upperclassmen were evidently practicing right now, as calming waves of string music washed across his ears. He leaned his head against the wall and just listened. He couldn't identify the song right away, but that didn't bother him. It was still pretty.

"They're not so bad you know," someone said in front of him. Will didn't know the voice, but it had the slightest of a Scottish accent in it. He peeped open an eye to see Angry Cello Boy standing in front of him. He sighed.

"Annoying, yes," Cameron continued, "but bearable, for the most part." He tapped Will's foot with his toe. "Come on. If you're planning on ditching today's afternoon classes, there are better places to go."

Will gaped at him. "But you hate me."

Cameron heaved a sigh. "I _loathe _everyone indiscriminately." He considered that for a moment. "Actually, I there are a few people I especially despise." He looked back at Will. "But I haven't decided what level of hatred I feel towards you yet. Now get up, Fucker. I'm losing both my patience and my generous attitude the longer you make me stand here."

Will raised his eyebrows but otherwise clambered to his feet and followed Cameron down the hallway and up some stairs.

"For the record," Cameron said as they stepped onto the roof. "I tip my hat to the shit you pulled with Lawrence today, Fucker."

"Thanks," Will said.

"But don't be such a bloody ass-hole of a smarty-pants in the future, alright, Fucker? That kind of crap is what turns everyone else against you. Nobody likes a show-off, Fucker. Remember that."

Will eyed Cameron, watching as the other boy pulled out a cigarette and proceeded to light it up.

"I have a name you know, or are you going to call me 'Fucker' from now on?" he said.

Cameron smiled at him. "I know you have a name, Fucker. William James Aingealceol. I believe that last bit is Irish, yes? Angel of music or angel song thereabouts?"

Will nodded.

"I hate the bloody Irish." Cameron said. "They're such a fanny, bitches, all of them."

Will nodded grimly. "Thanks again."

"Eh, no problem." Cameron sat down on the lip of the building and looked across the skyline. "I know what you're thinking, by the way, Fucker."

"What's that?" Will asked, joining him and trying not to breathe in the fumes.

"That this place is a bloody hell-hole that you would rather raze to the ground than live in a moment longer."

Will made a face. "Yeah, actually. How'd you guess?"

"Because I feel the same way. Cig?"

Will shook his head. "No thanks."

Cameron sighed. "Your choice. Look, Fucker. You're not going to last long here if you keep that mindset."

"So what do I do?"

Cameron shrugged. "Grin and bear it? I smoke. Keeps my mind off things. Well, that and obsess over Boccherini."

Will looked at Cameron sideways.

"My cello," Cameron explained. "Yeah, he's pretty much my bitch."

"Lovely." Will said.

"Mmm."

"So—"

"Don't talk, Fucker. Just enjoy the damn moment."


	4. Chapter 4

Will dropped his backpack next to the kitchen table and went questing into the cupboards for something to eat. He had spent most of the day on the roof with Cameron, talking. Jamie had been right; they did get along pretty well. They had only retreated back into the building and gone their separate ways when Cameron announced that it was time for personal practice time. Cameron, it seemed, was just into loosing himself in music as Will was.

His mom stepped in, cardboard box in hand as she rummaged around; trying to find something they had packed up. She huffed and clanked in down on the table. Her eyes followed him, not quite glaring, more like boring into his skin as she waited for him to make the first move. Apparently, he had done something wrong.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Will?" she asked.

He pulled open the fridge and pulled out a coke, then slammed the door shut with his foot. He considered, then shook his head. "Nope. Nothing comes to mind."

She frowned. "Your school called me today. You skipped all of your core classes."

He pulled out a bag of tortilla chips and munched on one. "Well," he said, "There is that."

She sat down across from him. "Will, you need to go to school. You need to learn. Ditching is not an option. I know you're going through a tough time right now, but I put you in school so that you could at least have something normal to hang on to. So that you could make some friends."

He scoffed. "I did make some friends. I was hanging out with Cameron today. That's why I missed those classes, alright?"

She frowned. "Will, if someone is encouraging you to miss a class, then they're not a very good friend."

He folded his arms across his chest. "Cam is one of us, Mom, and he's cool. He gets music."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Cameron…Renelsker?"

Will nodded. "Yeah…"

"Will, I don't want you hanging out with him especially, Shadowhunter or no."

"Why?" he asked, interest piqued. Cameron, while having a crude mouth and a gruff exterior, was actually a nice person once you got used to him.

"Will, Cameron has some problems. I was talking to his uncle about him today, and while he's not a bad kid, he has a tendency to get other people hurt because he's so reckless. What about Rachel and Jamie though? Did either of them talk to you?" She reached out and ruffled his hair. He dived away.

"Yeah, they talked to me. They're both annoying. Rachel's too nice and Jamie is an idiot. I don't like either of them."

She sighed. "Will, please make an effort to make friends with them. I know they're not the Departed, but can't you just give them a chance? Please, for me?"

He scowled. "The only one I really liked was Cam."

"Will, I'm asking you to stay away from him. He's trouble."

Will looked his mother square in the eyes. "I don't care. He's better than Rachel and Jamie. He can actually carry out a decent conversation with me, and when did you become Mrs. Fray, anyways? You always let me choose who I wanted to hang out with and not try to tell me who's good and bad. Why are you getting so uptight about things now?"

"Because I'm worried about you." She pleaded.

Will stood up in a huff, almost knocking his chair over. "You don't need to worry. I'm _fine._"

She looked at him sadly. "You used to smile so much more. You used to laugh all the time. How long has it been since you've done either, Will?"

Will stared at the floor, unwilling to meet her eyes. "I'm going to practice," he said quietly.

"Practice," his mother said bitterly. "That's all you ever do these days. I love that you love to play so much, Will, but don't forget the world. Don't forget that there's a still a life waiting for you to live."

Will walked away without comment. Her words didn't feel true. How could there be life without the Departed? Without Clary, for that matter? He thought of her now. New-penny colored hair flashing in the sun as she turned to laugh at him. The way her smile lit up her face and her laughter bubbled out of her mouth and filled the space around her with joy. Being with her made him feel like he was flying. It was wonderful, and he missed her more than anything else in the world. He would give up playing the viola if he ever got to see her again.

He had been working on a piece for her, something to play when he saw her next. He thought that she would like it. He wrote a new movement practically every few months and edited them just as often. He pulled out the sheet music. He had been careful to keep it clean and unwrinkled. This was for his Lady, after all.

He turned on his Ipod to some Bach stuff and started playing. Music was a nice, easy way for him to loose himself. He didn't have to wonder if there were other worlds out there: he knew there was this one and the one he created whenever he played. He thought that heaven was a little bit like the music world. Abstractly beautiful, calming too. He thought it would be a bit like floating out in the big wide open world of space, being weightless and free and the only things to bother you shining, brilliant stars.

He rejoiced in his solitude, he wore it around his shoulders like a cloak, and it kept all but the most persistent of people out. The doorbell rang and while Will distantly registered the sound, he didn't bother to go see who was here to visit. They were probably after his mother, anyways. People were always looking for her. He was surprised, though, when someone hesitantly knocked on his door. His eyes fluttered open and landed, shockingly, on a familiar face.

"Hello, Will." Celia said shyly. "It's good to see you."


End file.
